


Just A Little Stress

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-08
Updated: 2006-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8079097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Reed snaps in a cascade of work. (05/01/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This is my first A/R fic (well first time I've admitted to it anyway) and this fluff is all for MJ. I have at least three other fics whining to be written, but this shouted loudest. ;) Relax and take comfort, MJ.  


* * *

"That's it!"

All heads in the chaotic Armory turned toward the shout. Malcolm Reed didn't notice nor care. He was beyond giving a damn about what any of them thought. Overwhelmed and thoroughly pissed, he hurled the PADD in his hand at the nearest wall, stunning the crewman who had brought it to him. The PADD hit the wall with a pleasing crunch, then cracked when it hit the floor. The crewman opened her mouth, presumably to ask what was wrong, but Malcolm was already marching for the door.

Fucking shit! How could he ask one more thing of him? How the hell could he? As if Malcolm wasn't doing enough already? The Armory was a dismal mess. The ship was practically defenseless. It ate away at his soul to see his weapons gutted and pulled apart. He worked late hours trying to speed up the repairs. As it was, only a little more than a few inches of haul plating stood between them and a would-be attacker. And he was still continuing with his normal routine as well, instructing crewman with rifle and defense training. Every day he was not late working on repairs, he was up late helping someone polish his or her skills. Add to that a seemingly clueless and oblivious lover, and Malcolm was ready to snap.

Malcolm took the lift up a few decks and stalked down the corridor. Alpha shift had been over three hours ago, so he knew exactly where to find him. He punched in his security code and strode into Jonathon Archer's quarters. Malcolm glared at the man playing with Porthos as he lounged in casual clothing on the bed.

"Are you daft?" Malcolm spat out.

"Excuse me?" Jon sat up and held the beagle in his lap.

"Are you stupid, _sir_?" Malcolm growled down at Jon. He'd never been so furious at the man before, never spoken his mind so vividly before. Jon, surprised, opened his mouth to reply, but Malcolm cut him off. "You sent a crewman to come fetch me? And while I'm working? If you haven't noticed, the Armory is a bloody mess! _Enterprise_ couldn't even defend herself against a cargo ship. I don't have any damn time to come and entertain you!"

Jon stared, still stunned for a moment, before saying, cautiously picking his words, "Your shift ended three hours ago, Malcolm. You wouldn't even look at me when I stopped by earlier. I had to try something that would get your attention."

"And so you sent Crewman Jones with a fake Engineering report?" Malcolm scowled and clenched his fists. Jon wasn't getting out of this.

"It got your attention, didn't it?" Jon smiled. He set Porthos down and reached out for Malcolm. "You need to relax, Malcolm. They can handle the rest of the night without you."

Malcolm snapped back out of his reach. "Relax? I can't relax. This ship needs her weapons. I don't have time for this."

"Malcolm..." Jon stood and managed to slip his arms around Malcolm. "You really don't want to spend any time with me at all?" He smiled warmly, looking Malcolm in the eyes.

"I don't have the time!" Malcolm implored. He struggled to stay upset. God, it felt too good to be in Jon's arms. How long had it been since the last time he'd been alone with Jon? He couldn't remember. But he couldn't just curl up here. He had so much to do. He was exhausted but he couldn't stop.

"Please," Jon said as he kissed Malcolm's forehead. "I thought we could watch some waterpolo and drink a few beers. Loosen you up a little." He wiped Malcolm's dirty cheek clean. "Do I have to make it an order?" He smirked.

Malcolm sighed. He quickly gave up and surrendered, relaxing in Jon's arms. Malcolm always surrendered to Jon. The anger and anxiety in him melted away. "No, Jon."

"Good." Jon kissed him, sweet and reassuring, before tugging him toward the bed. "Take off your clothes and stay a while, then." He winked and turned to open two bottles of warm beer.

Malcolm chuckled softly, tugging off his boots, then stripped out of his dirty uniform into his Starfleet blues. It did feel good to get out of his uniform, and he knew Jon had a thing for the way the blue in the issued underwear brought out Malcolm's gray-blue eyes.

"Ah, much better." Jon handed Malcolm a beer and climbed onto the bed with his own in hand. He pulled Malcolm back between his legs as Jon leaned against the headboard, then he reached to switch on the game.

Malcolm gratefully leaned back against Jon. The warmth of the other man's chest soothed any remaining tense muscles. His exhaustion crept up on him, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn't really care for waterpolo, although he was slowly seeing why Jon enjoyed it, especially the wet, half-naked men part. Malcolm closed his eyes and listened to the other man's slow, steady breathing. He let his worries sift away, head resting against Jon's shoulder.

Jon caressed Malcolm with his free hand—down Malcolm's arm, around his stomach, through his hair. His deep voice was soothing, even as he made soft, excited comments about the game.

Malcolm's beer went mostly untouched. Barely awake, Malcolm noticed Jon slip the bottle from Malcolm's hand, then return to stroking Malcolm gently. Before he drifted off, Malcolm couldn't help a smile. Once again it seemed Jon knew him all too well. He could worry about _Enterprise_ tomorrow. The repairs would wait for him. Right now, he'd much rather bury his face against Jon's neck and fall sleep.


End file.
